


God only knows (what I'd be without you)

by AKL



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 06:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKL/pseuds/AKL
Summary: A love story told in nine moments, in a world where Heaven and Hell are nothing but myth, and the center of the universe consists of a tartan tattoo parlor and a high-end flower shop.





	God only knows (what I'd be without you)

The first time Ezra saw him, it was night. His hair was brassy in the star-soaked light of a reluctant moon, his face angled reverently toward the pavement, and he seemed so naked, so _vulnerable_ , that Ezra was almost driven to avert his gaze. He didn't. Foolishly he kept staring, the image of this young man sitting alone on a park bench in the dead of night, with nothing but the yellow glow of a street light haloing the darkness behind him - Ezra was transfixed.

Then the man looked up.

Ezra spun around quicker than a startled deer, trying vainly to rub the flush from his cheeks as he hurried down the path, desperate to be out of sight.

* * *

His hands were busy with the well-practiced art of tattooing, edging the needles carefully along the stencil penned on his client's skin. It didn't take long for him to finish. He shouted toward the front of the shop that he was ready for his next appointment, bustling between tables as he discarded used equipment and prepped the area for a new piece. He turned on his heel when he heard somebody step into the work space, gasping immediately at the sight of him. _Him_. It was red, not brassy, he realized. A dark cherry red that almost certainly matched the anxious blush creeping up his neck.

He was taller than Ezra imagined him to be, and his hair was cropped much shorter than it had been those couple weeks back.

 _"You,"_ the man gawped, apparently just as surprised as Ezra. "What're you doing here?"

"I work here!" Ezra exclaimed, the words bursting out of him before he'd processed even a fragment of what was happening. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I- wh- what's that supposed to mean? You think I've been stalking you after I caught you staring at me in a park at _three in the morning?"_

Ezra held his notebook tighter against his chest. "…No."

The man rolled his eyes. "Right, well, I'm your next appointment, so-"

"Yes," Ezra interrupted, a bit prissier than he'd have liked. "I assumed as much." He gestured expectantly at the customer's chair.

"The name's Crowley, since you asked," _Crowley_ snarked as he folded himself onto the padded seat. "Anthony Crowley."

"Ezra Fell," he replied with pursed lips, very eager to regain a sense of professionalism. But the way Crowley was looking at him, brown eyes pale and honeyed in the white glare of the overhead ring light, was making Ezra's breaths come quicker and his heart beat faster, though his hands were as steady as they always were.

Crowley related the kind of tattoo he wanted. A dark, delicate sketch of a daffodil on the inside of his forearm, the stem reaching outward, toward his wrist, with the blossom splayed just below his inner elbow

"Why a daffodil?" Ezra asked as he drew a basic outline, his hands careful not to smudge the pencil.

Crowley shrugged. "I like flowers. I own a shop of them, actually, further uptown."

Ezra stole a glance at him. He was draped over the chair, his legs stretched out across the hardwood, staring aimlessly at one of the many piles of books complimenting the shop.

"Why were you watching me?" Crowley suddenly piped up, voice high with curiosity.

Ezra scoffed, succeeding in nothing other than fueling his own embarrassment. "You were interesting, that's all. Sitting alone on a bench so late at night. I was more than a little concerned, to be completely honest, I was thinking about asking if you needed any help." He risked another glimpse as he finished talking, awkwardly meeting eyes with Crowley, who was observing him with a reserved kind of amusement.

"You were concerned?" He repeated, an impish smile spreading across his face.

Ezra flatly put down the pencil, shoving the notebook in Crowley's direction. "Is this alright?"

Crowley blinked, taking the sketch with the confused attitude of a child on the receiving end of a passive aggressive punishment. "Uh…" he answered, eyes squinting down at the daffodil. "Yeah. Yeah, it's perfect."

Ezra nodded primly, his jaw set firm even as his heart fluttered at Crowley's charmed expression.

* * *

He was shopping for groceries, carefully inspecting a box of pastries, when he moved to go back to his cart and instead bumped square into the chest of another person.

"Oh, excuse me," he flustered, turning his eyes up to the stranger, who was wearing a somewhat bewildered frown. "Crowley!" Ezra exclaimed, practically dropping his apple turnovers.

The frown smoothed out as Crowley lifted a stylishly thin brow. "Ezra," he greeted. He flashed a muddled look at the box of turnovers clasped between Ezra's hands.

Ezra smiled hesitantly. "Er- still liking the tattoo, then?"

"Still- yes, of course," Crowley snorted, already pushing up his sleeve to show it off.

Ezra knotted his hands together, the pastry box carefully tucked beneath his arm. "It does look to be healing well," he muttered. The slender, monotone lines of the daffodil were elegant on Crowley in a way Ezra wouldn't have expected.

"D'you like those?" Crowley asked. He didn't pull his sleeve back down.

Ezra stared at him, rather dumbly, he feared. "Like… like what?"

"The _turnovers."_

"Oh, um- yes." Ezra saddled the box against his hip.

Crowley made a little noise of acknowledgement, then said with such a level of sincerity it was almost comical, "I've never had an apple turnover."

"Oh-" Ezra swallowed. Butterflies twirled in his chest, his palms felt clammy, he suddenly couldn't quite look Crowley in the eye- "Well. Maybe I could, I don't know- we could- that is, I could treat you to some, one day."

He laughed only for a second, and Ezra was terrified that it was out of disbelief or scorn, but despite that, it managed to make every bone in his body go hot all the same. "Are you being serious?" Crowley pocketed his hands into his black jeans, his voice too well-natured for Ezra to read properly. "We didn't exactly have a 'meet-cute', y'know."

"I'm being completely serious," Ezra retorted. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise." In the back of his mind, he wondered how he was managing to behave so confidently when his stomach had found a new home in his throat and his legs were about to give way beneath him.

"Oh," Crowley said.

"I know we aren't very familiar with one another, but I can't deny that I like your company, Crowley, and it would be a pleasure to see more of you."

"Oh," Crowley said again.

"Can't you say anything other than 'oh'?"

"Ngk."

Ezra groaned. "I shouldn't have spoken up." He thoughtlessly began squeezing his pastry box in some attempt to relieve his nerves. "Just forget it." He was doing nothing other than making a fool out of himself.

Crowley's eyes went wide. "No!" He blurted, cringing almost immediately, as if at his own volume. He took in a deep breath, visibly swallowing before meeting Ezra's patient stare. "I'd- …I'd love to."

His eyes held so much conviction, warm and tawny and hopeful - there was nothing Ezra could do but believe him.

* * *

He didn't want to say he couldn't stop thinking about Crowley, but he couldn't stop thinking about Crowley.

"You look distracted," the devil himself murmured, his voice lazy and thick in the muggy air.

"Oh, erm- no. I mean, yes, but… it's nothing for you to worry about, darling."

Crowley couldn’t have straightened up from his spot on Ezra's couch quicker. There was a fan circulating the air through the room, but it wasn't doing much for the summer heat, mostly just mussing Crowley's already-mussed hair. _"Darling?"_ He echoed, eyebrows raised.

Ezra pressed a sweating glass of iced water against his cheek, sighing in relief before apprehensively peeking at his… (friend? lover? partner? they only met a few months ago, maybe he was moving too fast). "Is that alright?"

Crowley cleared his throat, settling back into the admittedly lumpy sofa, confliction warring on his face. "No, it's… s'fine."

It obviously wasn't. "You can tell me if it bothers you, Crowley. I won't do it again."

He furrowed his brow. "No, it's fine. S'just- well, uh. I didn't… well, I didn't realize you felt… like that." He grimaced.

Ezra suddenly didn't have the appetite for lounging anymore. "Like what?" He stressed, tone harried despite his best efforts to remain calm.

Crowley grinned, but it was a weak, watery thing that offered no comfort to the anxiety gripping Ezra's shivering heart. "Like me."

Oh.

 _Oh_.

OH.

"You-"

"Ezra-"

Both their mouths snapped shut.

"You go first, Ezra." Crowley offered, a humility making itself known in him that Ezra hadn't quite realized was there. He'd found Crowley to be all sharp angles, black clothes and red hair and amber-brown eyes and cutting humor - this new Crowley, this soft-spoken, gentle Crowley, was something Ezra had up until now only seen in brushstrokes. Never the full picture.

"I-" his throat was dry, and he wished he had the strength to bring the water glass to his lips. "I'm in love with you, Crowley."

Crowley's jaw dropped. _"What?"_

Ezra's stomach fell like a stone at that. But he would stand by his confession regardless. He would not be ashamed of his feelings. "I love you," he declared, voice wavering more than it had before.

Crowley leaned back, looking for all the world like he'd just witnessed the power of a nuclear bomb firsthand. "S'more shocking than I thought it would be," he slurred, "hearing you say it."

Silence blossomed in the back of Ezra's shop. The doors were all locked, the windows open, and despite the sweltering heat, Ezra found that he was immeasurably cold. "I misunderstood?" He questioned, although it came out too stiff to really sound like a question. It was a statement. One that he very nearly believed, worst of all.

"No."

The ice splintered.

 _"No?_ Lord, Crowley, you can't just _say_ No! I love you, for heaven's sake!"

"Ezra…" the way he uttered his name. It was like a prayer, a word of worship, a title spoken only in the most quiet, dark, intimate of moments. It was an admission of love. Ezra had known Crowley for three months. He'd wanted Crowley for his whole life. "I love you too."

The summer heat slammed into him full-force, then. Any remnants of the frost that had gradually been crawling across his shoulders melted away, long forgotten as their hands reached out, grasping each other in an embrace that Michelangelo himself couldn't have painted better.

* * *

Somehow they moved upstairs, into the bedroom. They partook in an abiding sacrament of clothes being stripped off, tender words whispered into one another's ears, fingers entangling in hair, whether red or blonde, Ezra didn't care - all he knew was the exalting touch of Crowley's skin on his and the love filling his heart, increased tenfold now that the fear of rejection was finally put to sleep. Now that he could let himself love, and be loved in return.

Ezra wasn't sure how long it lasted, but when they finally laid themselves to rest he saw through the bedroom window that the sky had gone murky and the moon - looking so similar to how it had that night in the park - was sheltered quietly behind a bed of silver-gray fog.

A drowsy sigh from Crowley stirred his attention, and with bated breath, Ezra shifted to lay closer to him.

"You're an angel… you know that?" Crowley murmured, his eyes half-lidded as he drifted in and out of sleep. "An absolute angel."

"You think so?" Ezra whispered, turning on his side to watch as Crowley's chest steadily rose and fell, as his dark lashes brushed against the slant of his cheekbones, as his lips parted before he spoke:

"Yeah." His eyes, still fighting to stay open, moved to rest on Ezra's face. "You are."

* * *

Life was different with Crowley. Ezra's family had ostracized him several years back, due in part to his homosexuality and in other part his desire to become a tattoo artist. They were very religious, his family. But not in a way he felt was Right.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a family again. Crowley had given that gift to him.

"Do you ever wear anything other than black?" Ezra had once asked, far more reproachful than he'd intended. He'd never be reproachful to Crowley, not if he could help it. He knew the heartache such harsh judgement provided.

"Can't, angel," Crowley replied, stretching himself over the already-threadbare sofa. "S'not my Look."

Ezra wrinkled his nose. "Your look?" He parroted.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "No - my _Look_. Maintaining an image, love. I'm very committed."

"Oh, erm… right." He supposed he understood, in a backwards sort of way. He too had a style he was very dedicated to maintaining, albeit not as dramatically.

They were in the back of Ezra's shop again. It seemed to be the place they most often joined each other, as Ezra's flat was just overhead and Crowley never really talked about where he lived, let alone took Ezra there.

 _"It's not much of a home,"_ he'd said during the singular instance Ezra had asked. _"Not to sound sappy, but you're more of a home than anything else I'll ever find."_ He'd gone beet red at that amount of praise, naturally, and Crowley had teased him for the rest of the evening.

Ezra honestly couldn't remember what his life had been like before Crowley. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"What's your family like, dear?" Ezra wondered aloud.

"Wh- hng- my family?"

He shrugged in some attempt to lighten the question, deep down knowing he'd be disappointed if Crowley refused. "You don't have to tell me."

Crowley didn't move an inch from his spot on the sofa, yet Ezra saw as he tensed, as he coiled up like an animal in fear of its safety. "My family," he uttered, screwing up his face as if the word alone put a bitter taste in his mouth. "They aren't… all too different from yours, actually."

Ezra perked up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah." Crowley sighed, and a little bit of the tension fell away, his warm eyes flicking to look somewhere at the front of the empty shop. "Right wankers, the lot of 'em."

Those words made Ezra sad. Sad on Crowley's behalf, though he was sure Crowley was more upset by them than he could ever be. "Well, my dear," he smiled encouragingly when Crowley shifted his gaze back onto him, and hoped with everything he had that it looked as compassionate as it felt. "You'll always be family to me."

And when Crowley returned the smile with one that made Ezra's heart take flight, he knew that he meant it.

* * *

He was walking down the same path, in the same park, when he saw him.

His hair was burgundy in the cloudy daylight, his head bent to look down at the pavement, and he seemed so bare, so without armor - Ezra had only seen him that exposed in a handful of moments. When they were whiling away the long midnight hours together, drunk on exhaustion, or more notably, that first night he'd seen him. A night that felt so long ago.

He swallowed. He took a heavy, shivering breath in some poor attempt to calm his nerves, and with the smallest crumb of hesitation, he walked to him.

For a terrifying moment Ezra was worried Crowley might be upset with him for interrupting what was clearly a personal moment, but as he neared the bench, Crowley scooted to make room for him, and any lingering doubts he had were erased.

He plopped down next to him, inspected his fingernails, brushed invisible lint off his pants and cleared his throat, patiently waiting for Crowley to say something, to look at him, to in any way acknowledge that he was there other than moving over, but he didn't.

Crowley was sitting uncharacteristically still beside him.

Ezra furrowed his brow. He knew he would respect Crowley's privacy no matter how much he might not want to, so without another sound, he observed the other park-goers. A pair of men, both dressed in ill-fitting suits, were having a stoic conversation in the shade of an old oak tree. A mother and her little girl strolled across the grass to the duck pond.

"The daffodil," Crowley abruptly spoke, his voice a hoarse gunshot in the quiet. "It symbolizes rebirth."

Ezra drifted closer to his side, sparing a glimpse at the anxious way Crowley was braiding his fingers, then to the tattoo butterflied over the inside of his arm, delicate and comely and all too fitting. He turned his eyes up to Crowley's face, gazing fondly as the sharp lines of it were made soft and familiar in the gentle sunlight. "That's lovely," he murmured, because it was.

* * *

Crowley's flower shop was nothing like Crowley himself.

The plants were all beautiful, large and glossy, practically radiant with life, and the obvious care being poured into them was very Crowley indeed - it was the actual building that held none of his personality. And in the many months Ezra had known Crowley, he'd found him to be anything but lacking in personality.

"I was thinking," Crowley started as they walked side by side through the greenery, "maybe you could give me some advice on the decor."

Ezra stopped, his arms folded neatly behind his back. "What do you mean, darling?"

Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, the loose material of his shirt slipping to reveal most of his collarbone. Ezra felt the telltale heat of a blush crawling up his neck and hurriedly looked away. "Y'know," Crowley vaguely said, taking no notice of Ezra's reaction. "I think you're flat's nice, and I think you're shop's nice, and, uh…" he dropped his head to look at a succulent. "I think you're nice."

Ezra knew he was staring, but he really couldn't help it. Not when Crowley said things like that. "Oh, my dearest." He hoped, he prayed, he wished each and every day that with a little bit of luck and a lot of love, they could remain together until the very end. "I'd be honored."

* * *

"Why were you sitting in the park that night, dear?"

"Hmm," Crowley said, rolling onto his stomach. "Thinking."

"About what?"

He sat up, and in the glow of the table lamp Ezra was barely able to make out the dark roots Crowley hadn't yet covered up with a fresh bath of hair dye. He'd asked him once why he dyed it, and he had yet to receive an answer.

"Nothing important, angel. Nothing you haven't already heard me say."

Anything Crowley said was important, Ezra believed that with every bone in his body, with every breath in his lungs, and with every beat of his heart. But he smiled, and he gave Crowley a soft kiss on the cheek, and he went back to reading his book. Crowley would tell him when he was ready. Ezra loved him enough to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> with freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?  
> \- Oscar Wilde
> 
> the title is from the beach boys' song of the same name.


End file.
